


A deux mains, jusqu'à demain

by Gampyre



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gratuitous French, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Watford Eighth Year, excessive wordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27963326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gampyre/pseuds/Gampyre
Summary: Angsty PWP. Seriously, the only plot is that Baz and Simon are having sex, the night before the big final battle. All told through French wordplay and Baz's dramatic point-of-view. He thinks he's poetic. Perhaps he is. (That's for you to decide.)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 24
Kudos: 78
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	A deux mains, jusqu'à demain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shushu_yaoi_lj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shushu_yaoi_lj/gifts).



> I did not ask anyone to beta this, so forgive any errors. I do speak fluent French; however, I may have overlooked certain details in favor of having fun with the play on words, so forgive any errors there as well. Call it artistic license. ( _La licence artistique._ ) Rough translations (and a bonus smutty pun) are in the notes at the end.
> 
> The E rating is just to be safe... I'd put this on the border between M and E if I'm being honest. It's not super explicit.
> 
> Llamapyjamas, this is for you, because you're amazing and a wonderful friend and a lovely human, and because I thought you might enjoy the French puns 💖
> 
> For COC day 14: Constellations

***

He writhes underneath me, wrists twisting in my hands. I’m straddling his hips, holding him down; his warm thighs are pressed to the inside of mine. There's nothing but a thin layer of cotton between us. His chest—like the rest of him—is bare, and I trace constellations on it with my tongue. _Perseus, Draco, Fornax, Crux._

“Baz,” he groans.

“Yes, Snow?” I mumble into the soft skin of his belly, as I lick and kiss my way down to the mess of bronze curls below his navel. The smell of him—heady and a bit sour—is intoxicating. He makes the most glorious sounds beneath me as he squirms.

_Sa chair, si chère._

“Baz, I want—” He sucks in a sharp breath when I drag my teeth—my fangs—along the sensitive inside of his thigh. “I need you—”

His voice breaks when I move back up his body to suck a mark into the soft spot at the base of his neck. I roll my hips, and I feel him hard and wanting beneath me. He gasps again. 

_Tout près, tout prêt._

“Use your words,” I growl, nipping at his Adam’s apple. 

He grips my arse, pulling me down to him, rutting up against my stomach, and I grind my hips in response before sitting back on my heels, teasing him. He parries, slipping a hand under my waistband, and I counter, reaching between us to take him into my hand.

_En vrai, ceci n’est guère une guerre._

“Fuck, Baz!” he hisses. My name in his mouth sets me on fire. (I’d like a lot more of me in his mouth than just my name.)

He goes on the offensive again, sliding warm hands down my thighs, pulling fabric with them and removing the last barrier between us. I freeze, momentarily overwhelmed by the sensation of skin against skin. Catching my breath, I lower my chest to his and begin to move back down his body, little by little, inch by inch, scattering kisses like breadcrumbs until I reach the end of the trail.

_Peau à peau, peu à peu._

It’s not supposed to happen this way. He should be taking me apart with a sword (not with his touch). I should be draining the life from him, sucking his blood (not his cock). But with the taste of him on my lips, I can’t deny that we’ve become something more than enemies. _Enemies-cum-lovers_. ( _Enemies become lovers._ )

Still, there remains too much between us. Too much history, too many harsh words. 

_Trop de mots, trop de maux_.

When morning comes, we will be bound once more by fate. Destined. Star-crossed. Sealed with a kiss.

If only it were not death’s kiss that awaits us.

_A la mort, à l’amour._

I swallow those perilous thoughts along with the last traces of his orgasm, then press my lips to his, kissing him softly, our breath mingling. (As mine speeds up, his slows down.) 

_Laisse-toi faire_. 

_Don’t fight it, Simon. Don’t fight me._

He meets my gaze, and a shock runs through my body.

_Les étoiles brillent_. 

Stars are reflected in his eyes, myriad constellations mirroring the patterns on his skin.

“Baz,” he whispers, his breath soft and warm against my lips. 

_Il tisse sa toile_. 

I am weak. He spins a web around me, and I willingly wrap myself more tightly with it.

Does he know how much power he has over me? 

_Il me laisse sans voix._

His hand moves in sync with his heartbeat, with mine, and his name falls from my lips as my body tenses, pulses, and releases.

After, I fall asleep with my head on his chest and his fingers tangled in my hair. He pretends not to feel the tears that slip unwillingly from my eyes and fall to his skin. In the morning, it won’t matter. There’s nothing more to say. 

_Le soleil se lève; ce n'est que silence sur ses lèvres._

When the sun rises, we will once again be enemies, but for now (for this fleeting moment), in the night, in the dark, I hold him in my arms and call him mine. 

_A deux mains, au moins jusqu’à demain_.

***

**Author's Note:**

> I really really _really_ wanted to make a pun with _coup de foudre_ (love at first sight) and _coup de foutre_ (cum shot), but I couldn’t manage to write it in there without laughing, and that wasn’t quite the vibe I was going for 😂 I left the “enemies-cum-lovers” pun in there, though.
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> _Sa chair, si chère_ — his flesh, so dear  
>  _Tout près, tout prêt_ — close to me, and ready  
>  _En vrai, ceci n’est guère une guerre_ — in truth, this is hardly a war  
>  _Peau à peau, peu à peu_ — skin-to-skin, little by little  
>  _Trop de mots, trop de maux_ — too many words, too much pain  
>  _A la mort, à l’amour_ — to death, to love  
>  _Laisse-toi faire_ — don't fight it, let it go  
>  _Les étoiles brillent_ — the stars shine  
>  _Il tisse sa toile_ — he weaves/spins his web  
>  _Il me laisse sans voix_ — he leaves me speechless  
>  _Le soleil se lève; ce n'est que silence sur ses lèvres_ — the sun rises; there's nothing but silence on his lips  
>  _A deux mains, au moins jusqu’à demain_ — in both hands, at least until tomorrow


End file.
